Spirit in the Sky
by Sweet Namaste
Summary: A set of twins, with the ambitious goal of ending industrialization on a global scale, make their way to Gotham City in hopes to make it their first target. They start a series of mimic-crimes to distract the Bat, gaining attention - and anger - from some of Gotham's most notorious Rogues..
1. The Crow and The Fox

**PROLOGUE**

"Your children are beautiful, _Meda_. And what luck, twins! A boy and a girl."

"Yes," The whisper was nearly nonexistent, brilliant honey eyes transfixed upon the two elkskin bundles within her strong, tanned arms. It seemed strange; for nine months she had known, had even seen their little pictures on the ultrasound. At night, she would feel their constant somersaults and dream hazy visions of their future.

"What will you name them?" She was pulled from her thoughts now, reluctantly drawing her eyes upward to stare at the back of her midwife. Middle-aged, stout, and inconceivably nice, the older woman rinsed her hands and tools of the afterbirth in a washbasin nearby. The sound of the running water soothed the new mother's jumbled thoughts, finally feeling the fatigue of labor creep into her drooping eyelids. The visions from her dreams now returned to her, seeping into her consciousness.

The Crow. The Fox.

The sky, literally split into an even day and night at it's highest point. The sun and moon sat hazily across from each other, shedding light onto the serene forest that surrounded them.

She knelt before the beasts, hands folded neatly, unmoving. A slight breeze caught strands of ruddy black hair, waving them across her face lightly. The air smelled sweetly of pine needles after a rainstorm, fresh and pungent. _The winds of change blow in our favor, _she deduced automatically, noticing the warm caress it left over her skin. Nothing within her dreams went unnoticed, as each detail was important; as a shamaness, her dreams were riddled with meaning and foreshadowing. Her people needed her ever-vigilant.

Crow, feathers glittering with the ethereal light of day, took short steps towards her and dropped something from it's long beak. His perpetual black eyes never once left her own, and in them she could see knowledge, truth. Trust washed over her, a silent conversation between them as she grasped the object within her nimble, worn fingers.

_Bear claw. Protection. Strength. Will._

She smiled, a sign of thanks; he then spread his wings wide, and with one graceful swoop, found himself within the air. _Meda_ marveled at his grace as he exited the trees, and out into clear blue sky. A single caw named his exit, and graciously, she stuck the claw in her pocket.

While ever weary of Fox, _Meda_ now turned to him. His demeanor was good-natured, genuine, and the medicine woman could see it in his intelligent hazel eyes. In the night, his red pelt now seemed the color of blood, and within his irises lay a ring of the same hue. Again, a warm smile crossed her plump lips. Fox stepped forward, surprising her with a soft nudge of his nose to her belly, far more friendly than his bird counterpart. _He knows they're there. This is for them._

It yipped cheerfully, then opened it's maw, releasing his gift onto an outstretched hand. It, too, was smooth and weighted within her palm.

_Boar tusk. Spirit. Courage. Ferocity._

Her other hand reached up, cautiously, and found it's way to the crown of his skull. Fox closed his eyes, looking as though he was smiling, as her fingers scratched lightly the skin beneath his pelt. _How strange, giving gifts from other spirits as well. _A pink slip of tongue met her arm - an honor, no doubt! - and without warning, the spirit dashed past her, into a bush of vibrant pink roses. _Life, _her monologue droned at her. _Vibrant and happy._

The shamaness could feel her vision slowly reeling towards it's end, and shifted her weight off of her long legs to stand. She was grateful, her two children having being blessed by their spirit counterparts. Twins were already sacred to her people; they represented the delicate balance that is life, of the light and the dark. They would be trained, just as she had, on the ways of the shaman. And Mother Earth had approved of their character.

She beamed with pride, awaiting the vision to fade. But as she sat there, the moments dragging on, her conscious body did not wake. The woman furrowed her brow as she scanned the landscape for anything she'd missed. The forest around her, however, was calm, and yet clearly, there was more to say, more to tell her, but she could not find it. Was she supposed to follow Fox?

As she turned towards the wild roses yet again, thorns glistening in both day and moonlight, a large black and white feather floated weightlessly down into her view. It moved slowly, with grace and power; and rightly so. She caught the eagle feather in mid air, bringing it to her eyes and studying it with intense curiosity. It felt good in her hands, as if sending her love from the Creator, and the way the brilliant white faded into deep black resonated deep within her soul.

_The link between spirit and body; between the Creator, and our Mother. _

As she drew her eyes up towards the sky in gratitude and prayer she was greeted with the sight of a bat, fluttering blindly between the night and the day. It screeched silently at her, moving in dizzying circles around the tree limbs above her head. While some found them ugly, she adored the bat. When one makes the journey to shamanism, they learn to appreciate their night-dwelling friend and his gift of rebirth; she had not forgotten that gift. She would never forget any of these gifts, one of the many the Creator had given her in her life.

"_Meda._" The haggard voice of the midwife brought her back to reality. The older woman stared at her, hands now clean and on her hips, with a brow arched. Again she peered down at her children, planting a soft, wet kiss on either of their foreheads as she spoke.

"The boy, born in the day, will be _Chogan. _The girl, born of night, will be _Sinopa_." She smiled at them, watching little _Chogan_'s eyes open dreamily and a half-smile catch his small, delicate face. _You're meant for great things, _her mind cooed, and reluctantly she let go of her children, allowing the midwife to place them safely at her bedside. Although sleep fought at the corners of her eyes, she stood on two shaky legs and pulled two items from her pocket.

"Blackbird and Fox." The midwife mused. "Did you see...?" The question fell short within the midwife's throat, watching the new mother tuck a crow's feather inside of the first bundle, and a patch of fox pelt within the other.

"Yes." Was all _Meda_ could manage before collapsing back onto the bed. Thankfully, the midwife had taken notice of her shaking legs, and was prepared, catching her just before she hit the mattress and lowering her onto it with surprising strength. "Thank you. The Creator sent us these children, my babies." A hand waved in a gesture over to them, weakly. The midwife offered her a glass of water, but she refused, and closed her eyes.

The older woman, seeking more information, placed a loving hand on her shoulder. "Why?" The word came out soft and encouraging; she'd been chosen as midwife for a reason. She had the spirit of Deer, always gentle and compassionate. The shamaness, inwardly, was very grateful for it, and offered her a silent prayer before speaking. Her eyes, however, were far too tired to open; they fluttered in a half-hearted attempt.

"They are here to help our Mother be born again." _Meda_ whispered, a small grin at the corners of her lips. "Justice. Things will be as they should." The last words were nearly inaudible as the fatigue of labor finally took over her weary soul.


	2. Cat and Mouse

**ONE - Cat and Mouse**

_In._

Sinopa steadied her petite frame; muscle stretched beneath soft mahogany skin and her bow lifted, simultaneously knocking the arrow she'd snagged moments ago upon seeing the creme antlers of a nearby Whitetail. It felt good in her hands, a heavy composite of chokecherry limbs, boar's tusk and sinew.

_Out._

Her arm drew the string back easily, feeling the bow stretch within her grasp. Copper irises narrowed on the deer with a predatory look, the hint of a smile creasing the very corners of her lips.

_In._

Finally her bow levelled, and Sinopa nudged the arrow with her nose. She traced the path of the deer, who grazed calmly on a small patch of shrubbery within the forest that sat on the outskirts of Gotham City. The girl had been grateful there was even wildlife here to hunt; honestly, she'd assumed that the big city had scared it all away. Her face hardened, brows drawing closer to her eyes, and the breath in her lungs sat dormant. Within the recess of her mind, she offered a small prayer.

With a soft, inaudible exhale, the girl released. The arrow made no sound as it snapped from the bow with lightning speed, finding it's mark within the flesh of the stag. It leapt upon contact, and then fell into the foliage lining the forest floor. The native's eagle-feathered arrow had sunk deep within the beasts' forehead, causing it to die almost instantly. _Good,_ her mind began. S_wift and pain free, my friend._

It was a marvel the stag hadn't noticed the girl, knelt within the underbrush of non-native vine that swirled up the base of a pine tree. It'd been perfect for camouflage; the pine disguised her scent, while the large leaves of the strange vine covered her entirely. From within it, she'd managed to get within twenty feet of him. _Undoubtedly from the famed Wayne Botanical Garden, _the woman scoffed, suddenly appearing within the forest. It was some sort of honeysuckle, but nothing she'd seen back home, and it ate away at the edge of the forest where the stag had led her. Able fingers plucked two flowers off of the plant, one falling into a leather-looking herb pouch that slung lazily around her waist while the other being placed in her chestnut hair.

Satisfied with her inquiry, she left her hide-out, and began her barefoot trek across the forest floor. Although it shouldn't surprise her, she felt anger boil within her blood as she spotted bits and pieces of trash within the clean earth, and cigarette buts lining the tree roots. The people of Gotham wasted what they had. Their forest was beautiful, lush, and surprisingly abundant with life; and yet here they were, throwing it all away for their cars and their cell phones and pretty buildings...

Sinopa knelt and placed a firm hand onto the Whitetail's head, using the other to wiggle her arrow from it's target. Blood had pooled into the dirt where she stood, tinging her nose with the metallic tang of iron, and the fringe from her dress dipped into it lightly. The feeling she felt, however, was not disgust. They had been taught about taking lives, and they had done much worse to survive. No, the feeling she had was one of sheer irritation. _Lovely._ Her nose wrinkled, just barely hearing footsteps behind her, and recognized the pattern of steps. Her brother. A cheshire grin reached from ear to ear on her rounded features, returning to childhood momentarily.

She was no longer 23, but ten, eyeing her brother from the branches of a sturdy maple in the wilderness of Alberta. He cupped his hands, already twice the size of hers, around his lips and called out to her. Cat and Mouse, their favorite game. Well, unless Chogan was the Cat, of course, as his sister was far more nimble and far less predictable than himself; if she had her way, they would be at it for hours. As he paused below the maple, the same sinister grin crossed her face, and her body became weightless before toppling onto him.

"Sinopa?" Chogan's deep baritone brought her away from her reverie, his impressive stature nearly blocking the light that threaded through the leaves onto the deer carcass.

"Brother! Look'it the meat on him. Who knew Gotham had such life, eh?" Her voice was firm as a hand skirted to her thigh and pulled a knife from a sheath, hidden beneath the folds of her dress. She slit the creature's throat in one fluid motion, and then set to work removing it's innards, careful not to puncture or ruin anything too vital. Chogan watched his sister, a bag of game already thrown over his broad shoulders, as well as a handful of herbs and plants he'd come across along the way.

"I found some wild onions and spinach, as well as some juniper berries." He replied, shaking the sack of veggies at his waist. "Find us a stream, and I'll make us some soup. You've got some spices, right?"

Sinopa shook her head as she worked, not bothering to remove her eyes from the gore. "You can at least try, you lazy sot. Can't even find your own stream." Her brother was always so serious. In fact, he was the exact opposite of herself. He was reserved, soft-spoken, and moral; she, on the other hand, tended to be far too outgoing, well-spoken, and blurred the lines between moral and immoral. She didn't understand the whole concept, anyway. Chogan huffed at his sister, dangling the bag of small game in front of her as though it were not leaking bodily fluids onto the earth.

"Yes, so lazy, what with the four rabbit and two squirrels to your...what, one stag?" Although it was rare, a grin creased his lips. The woman could count on one hand how many times she'd seen him smile, and his laughter was even less so. She basked in it, while it lasted. It wasn't long. His face fell, and she could see the distracted gleam within his black eyes. "We should hurry. The Bat will be home soon."

"Don't rush me." His other half snapped, before finally standing up with a slight _pop _in her spine. "I know the Bat better than he knows himself, brother. Or his schedule, anyway." She chuckled then, gesturing for her brother to load up the meat and be on their way. His eyes now shot daggers at her as he hoisted the dead weight onto his other shoulder, then found balance. Sinopa's knife, with a handmade obsidian tip and ornately carved wooden handle, returned to her thigh before she stooped to pick up the leftover organs.

Their people were firm believers in wasting nothing, and so what they could not use - which was very little, mind you - they left for their animal brothers, who edged near as the sun began to fade further. _Shit. He's right, we should hurry._ Of course, the woman would never tell him that.

The walk back to their makeshift camp robbed them of their sunlight, and her brother was quick to start a small fire, shedding just enough light to see and just enough heat to cook. The twins had been meticulous in their planning, and the area that surrounded them had been tampered to thicken the foliage, to hide any traces of movement or light from the cascading walls of Wayne Manor. It was grandier, just too much for her, and as she placed her careful gaze onto the Wayne family these past few nights, it took all of her resolve to keep food within her belly. It was disgusting, the display of wealth and power. And to think, all of it was an elaborate illusion, the real beauty right in front of them. To have come so far, and make such simple mistakes...

_Not possible._

Sinopa left her brother to play butcher, a large hand making delicate slices within the deer's tender muscle, in search of water. Yet again, her brother was right - right to have chosen her to find the stream, of course. She was far better at these things. It seemed wherever one lacked, the other made up for it. Her toes dug into the earth slightly. Not very moist. Seasoned ears became attuned to the wildlife around her, and with dusk setting over the wood, the birds slowed their songs and only the crickets and scampering of rodents met her ears. It was beautiful, her own personal symphony! How could these people possibly ruin their lives with television, and vehicles, and...

_Ah!_

In the distance, just barely, she could hear water running. Her feet took over now, and within minutes, she found herself at the water's edge. An opossum stared at her oddly a few feet away, gauging her. She smiled, and visibly, the creature relaxed; it returned to lapping water before scurrying off and leaving her with a half grin. Dipping a pot into the water, she took a small sip and was dismayed to find even the water here was tainted. But it would have to do. She turned and swiftly made her way back, stomach rumbling with hunger and something she couldn't quite place. Excitement? Nervousness? It was hard to tell, surely a bit of both. Kind of like when they were children, playing Cat and Mouse. And yet again, she was a cheshire.

"Oh, my dear Bat. Enjoy these few hours. Tonight will be eventful."

* * *

**A/N: So, there'll be different POV's each chapter. I won't really have an order; it will simply fit the events of the story.  
If you've got any suggestions, please, I'd love to hear them. Or just tell me what you think down there in a little review, 'cause I'm still not so sure.  
I know there isn't a lot revealed just yet, but the next chapter or two will bring things into perspective, so bare with me!**

**And sorry if it takes me a while to update. My DBZ fic is in dire need of some TLC :/**


	3. Open Wound

**A/N: Yay! Finally some Bat action!**

**Hopefully this will entice some of you to leave me a review, tell me how you like it. I'm having a blast writing it.**

**TWO - Open Wound**

Red and blue lights flashed unceremoniously as the Caped Crusader approached commissioner Gordon, who's weathered face was set into a hard line as he spoke to a much younger cop, eyes growing wide with admiration as the figure approached. With a nod to his superior, the young man stumbled away, empty evidence bag in hand. Gotham had been quiet, if only for a few weeks; he'd anticipated this moment, hoping that what he'd been experiencing wasn't the calm before the storm.

And somehow, in his gut, he knew that it was. The look on Gordon's face only reaffirmed his intuition.

"I don't know how he did it, Batman," Were the first words from the older man's lips as he readjusted his glasses, which glinted in the dull haze of a streetlamp. "Maybe you'll see something I don't. But it looks like the Joker's work."

"Odd, he's been in Arkham for over a week now." The gruff voice responded after a brief shocked pause. But should he be? No, he supposed not. Nothing seemed to surprise him very much anymore. Before these few weeks of solitude, it seemed things had picked up in Gotham and the new trend was 'crazy'. All of the high-risk criminals had come out to play, wielding all sorts of new toys and weapons. "Quinn, perhaps? Or a man on the outside, just stirring trouble. Another break-out may be imminent." He silently passed by the commissioner, who said nothing, slipping into the narrow entryway of a small, ruddy looking building. The outside sign, true to the Clown Prince's nature, read 'What A Gas! Inflatable Toys' in fading neons. A smirk crossed his lips, as it usually did while assessing his foe's crimes. _Clever._

The smell of blood was unmistakable as he passed through the doorway, careful to check for any footprints or handprints near it's frame. Clean, it seemed, but it wasn't done anytime recently; he could rule out that much as grime caked the perimeter. His eyes moved further into the room; on the wall, written in blood, was a message.

_To my favorite Bat -_

_You seemed lonely without me these past few days,  
and since you're such a great pal,  
I've gotten you a gift,  
to show just how much you mean to me -  
And she's all yours, Batsy._

_See you real soon_  
_-J_

Batman grimaced. _See you real soon - _the clown had said that, right before they'd shut his cell in Arkham. The vigilante had walked him all the way through to his cell, as an extra security measure. The last time he'd gone unaccompanied, and escaped immediately. And then he killed six people.  
He would not allow for mistakes like that again.

He scanned the room one last time, but failed to find any footprints or noticeable remnants; only blood. Lots and lots of blood, which he'd swabbed with q-tips in multiple locations for analyzing later, stowed safely within his utility belt. With a sigh, he continued further, only to find a single door unlocked at the end of the hall. It swung open easily, revealing the sagging body of a young woman, bleach blonde hair now matted and rustic with her own blood. She'd been put into a suspension rig, nude - something the Dark Knight had heard of, but never really looked into - and by the looks of it, by force. Blood had pooled underneath her body, and on a tray next to her limp body lay her heart. Her chest had been ripped open, and her ribs snapped with bolt cutters. In the cool damp air within the abandoned building, wisps of steam could still be seen rising from it. _  
_

Bat's grimace deepened, feeling his heart break. The girl was beautiful despite the horrific Chelsea Grin she'd been given, and and the wounds that covered her body. She couldn't have been any more than twenty years old, a petite little thing with hazel eyes and soft, delicate features. She could have been an angel, now defiled upon this harsh metal rig. How did she end up here, caught up with this madman? Life was cruel, even to the innocent.  
Next to her heart lay a joker card with scribbling on it, and he picked it up carefully with a gloved hand.

_She said she was DYING to meet you,_  
_and I just know how you love blondes!_  
_HAHAHAHAHA_

He plucked a bag from his utility belt and stuck the card inside, and began taking pictures while swallowing the bile within his throat. That definitely explained the blood. H_e must have torn her chest open in the other room, then strung her up. What seemed like a struggle must have simply been a struggle against her dead weight._ He calculated, before sticking the small camera back within his belt, as well as the evidence. He'd have to review the handwriting on the card; if it was the Joker's, he'd know, although it looked very similar, he had to admit.

A strange comfort resided in him, as it was only one victim. _One too many._ His mind chided, and he continued through the abandoned building, which he'd found only contained this single office, it's only other door opening up to a large empty space in the back. Leftover cigarette butts - which he'd collected in a bag, to match for DNA with known henchman - leftover inflatable bounce-houses and empty beer bottles were all that remained in the open space that was the warehouse floor. He took a few pictures, for reference, and then exited the building; other than the cigarette butts and fingerprints from the bottles, it was a cold trail. Gordon was waiting for him, and straightened up as he saw the dark figure approaching.

"Brutal...that poor girl. So, what's your verdict, detective? You'd know better than me." Gordon sipped on a steaming cup of coffee, and again Batman fought bile as the image of her heart splayed into his mind. Rain began to pitter down lightly, causing the air temperature to drop further. He could see Gordon pulling his coat tighter, and silently thanked for the warmth the Kevlar offered.

"It looks like his work, but after I analyze a few things, I'll know for certain. I'll send you my results, and the evidence, once I'm finished." He paused, looking back to the warehouse. It looked even more dreary now, the moonlight finally covered by overcast sky. Gotham was now a dark, solid entity in the distance; a small cliche dash of lightning struck nearby, and inwardly he smiled. "Check the Arkham security footage, make sure he didn't move. Ask what contact he'd had with anyone, if it was noticeable. The Joker had to have gotten the information out, or himself, somehow."

"We've already got someone on it, I'll make sure you're sent a copy of the feed. But what I don't understand is why would he go back? That doesn't make much sense. Normally he'd be as far away as possible. Or try to lure you here. " The officer mused, scratching the fresh white stubble that had collected on his chin, before checking his watch. 2:30 AM.  
When he looked back up, the Bat had disappeared, leaving a familiar grin beneath his greying moustache.

Now buried within the shadows, Batman made his way towards the Batmobile, parked nonchalantly in a littered alleyway. He'd planned on checking into some mob activity by the docks, but with this new case, he decided it'd be best to return to the cave. The sooner he analyzed the handwriting, the better. Somehow he felt more obligated than normal to solve this crime; the gift was left to **him**, and that resonated, somewhere deep in the broken parts of his soul.**  
**

He slid in with practiced ease, commanding with a strained voice, "Home." It roared to life instantly, moving so swiftly through Gotham's streets that he sunk back into his chair. His body sagged lightly, and again he pictured the young woman from the crime scene. _You should have stopped this! This is what you vowed to end, and yet you've changed nothing! _A small voice nagged, words leaking poison into his consciousness as guilt overtook him. That wounded part of his psyche, his soul, was exposed and raw with the elicited emotions from the scene. It was a gash, an open wound, created by the death of his parents and despite all of his discipline and training, he couldn't escape it. With Jason's death, which he could hardly stand to think of, the wound had only grown deeper and more painful. But slowly, slowly he'd managed to get himself out of the rut...and seeing that young woman, so exposed and brutalized at his expense, had torn open the newly forming flesh that Batman had allowed to grow.

He hardly noticed as the vehicle whipped into the batcave and stopped with a single roar of the engine. Removing the cowl from his face, he stepped out onto the pathway towards his computer with a single not to acknowledge the older gent who was now walking gracefully down towards him, a tray of coffee and small intricate cookies within his able hands.

"Welcome home, Master Bruce. I..." Alfred's words, as eloquent as they sounded, died within his throat. The silver tray within his hands was set down just in time to catch Wayne in a soft embrace - looking quite odd, as he was such a tall and brooding man - and hold him momentarily. It was as if he was eight again, broken and bleeding. But he was soon a man again, and pulled away, wiping only a single tear. He wouldn't shed anymore tonight, that he was sure. Instead, he would bring his full attention to his case, and offer her soul as well as his own peace.

Alfred didn't have the heart to ask him what happened, watching his face go from a crumpled little boy to a hardened, determined man; instead, he offered a smile and a cup of coffee. And to Bruce, it meant the world.


End file.
